Once Upon A Soccer Practice
by MirethGuilbain
Summary: One version of Logan and Veronica's first encounter. Oneshot.


_Author's Note: This is simply one way I've thought about how my two favorite characters met. I'd really appreciate feedback, since I'm still not sure how to characterize a 12-year-old Logan._

_I take no credit for the characters. They belong to Mr. Rob Thomas and the fine people who created 'Veronica mars'.

* * *

_

The boy wandered listlessly through the corridor of his new school. His parents were finishing their conversations with the principal and guidance counselor, but said that they would meet him by the athletic fields when they were finished. No one had thought to tell him where the athletic fields were, though. One of those pesky little details that life was full of.

The halls were covered with posters and flyers about school events and clubs, but the boy didn't care. He had never been much of a joiner. Being the son of movie stars naturally distanced him from other children, even in L.A. where everyone was the kid of a movie star, pop singer, director, producer or agent. There were no playdates and groups activities, just private nannies, lessons and tutors. Life in Tinseltown had been so fast-paced that even a 12 year old could feel it and grow jaded by it. He felt no excitement, no anxiety about starting at a new school. He couldn't imagine that this one would really be any different, that the kids would be any different. School dances and bake sales were like the artificial sweetener that his mother put in her coffee. Even at 12, he knew that life was far darker and more complex than teachers liked to admit. Life was tabloid scandals, drunken parties, and welts left by belt buckles.

Consumed by his cynicism, the boy turned around a random corner, and rammed directly into someone else.

* * *

She was late to soccer practice. She hated being late, but she had forgotten her permission slip for the upcoming weekend tournament. It was going to be so exciting! A whole weekend away from home, with just the other girls on the team – and their chaperones, but they could be easily overlooked – staying up late at night and playing soccer all day. She'd kept checking on her permission slip all day, making sure it was still in her locker, and then somehow forgot to bring it with her to the locker room. She'd even put on her shinguards and kleats before she remembered, and then had to run all the way back to the school to get her form. Her kleats made funny clickety noises on the hard,shiny floors of the hallways.

Speeding around a corner, she ran straight into something. Or, rather, someone. She went flying backwards and landed on the floor on her butt. The wind was knocked out of her.

"Sorry…ummm…are you okay?" a voice above her asked.

She looked up. She'd never seen this boy before. He was kind of tall, but looked like he was her age. His hair was a very medium brown, and curled slightly at the tips. His eyes were brown. A very ordinary brown. But there was something in them that made her swallow her angry response. Something that reminded her of that little homeless kitten she'd begged her parents to let her keep last summer. She tried to get to her feet, but the kleats kept skidding on the polished floors. He wordlessly held out a hand and helped her up.

* * *

She was much smaller than he'd realized, he noticed once she was standing. She barely came up to his shoulder. Somehow she'd given the impression of being much bigger. He felt guilty over knocking someone so little to the ground. When she'd first looked up at him with angry blue eyes, he was ready to get defensive. After all, she'd come hurtling out of nowhere, and it's not as though he knew where he was going. But suddenly her eyes had softened, and he couldn't think of anything to say at all. He could only reach down and help her to her feet. Now that she was standing beside him, he could only stae at her.

She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Not like the girls in L.A., wearing mini skirts and tiny tops, slathering their faces with makeup and having their mothers' stylists do their hair. She just seemed so…real. Real, but in a good way, like the salty breeze that came in off the ocean. She wasn't wearing any makeup at all, and her bright blonde hair didn't look like it was dyed. It just looked shiny and healthy, pulled into two long streaming pigtails that stopped halfway down her arms.

"Are you new?" the tiny blonde creature asked. He liked her voice. It was cheerful, but not ditzy. It took him a minute to reply. What was wrong with him? Girls never fazed him.

* * *

For a minute, the girl thought that he wasn't going to answer. He just stood there, looking down at her as though he'd never seen a girl before.

"Ummm…yeah. We just moved from L.A.," he finally responded. It came out slightly hesitant, which confused her. When she'd first looked at him, his expression looked so tough. Unapproachable.

"Really? I've never been there. That probably sounds lame, 'cuz it's not like it's far away or anything. What grade are you in?" She didn't know why she asked. She knew she was super-late for practice, but she somehow didn't want to stop talking to the new boy.

"7th."

"Me too. Do you know who your homeroom teacher is? Mine is Ms. Watson."

"No one's told me anything."

"I hope you don't have Mr. Sommers. He's pretty strict."

* * *

The boy didn't know how to respond. Then he noticed a piece of paper lying on the ground. He bent to retrieve it.

"Did you drop this?" he asked.

"Oh my god! Thank you! I would have felt like such a moron if I'd forgotten it after running all the way to my locker to get it." She took it from him.

* * *

'_Maybe he just doesn't like talking,'_ the girl thought as she took the paper from him. She really didn't have any reason to stay, and she did have to go to practice.

"Anyway, I have to go. I'm really, really late. Soccer practice." she said.

"Oh, okay," the boy replied. "I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see ya."

She started walking down the hallway, when suddenly she stopped. Turning around, she saw that the boy was still just standing there.

"Hey…what's your name?" she called out.

"Logan."

"Welcome to Neptune, Logan. I'm Veronica."

* * *

He watched her go down the hall. Now that she wasn't stand right next to him, his brain began to revive, and he wished he'd been more…something. More clever. More amusing. More talkative. More Logan.

"Hey, Veronica!" he called out, right as she disappeared around another corner. She reappeared suddenly, looking startled.

"Wanna show the new kid where the athletic fields are?"

She smiled. "Sure. Come on, new kid. I'll take good care of you."

He smiled back. Maybe Neptune wasn't going to be so bad after all.


End file.
